The story of this ski trip begins in 2024, on a balmy July morning. The day before, we had done our first race together. Roped up on one of the countless ridges in the Valais, it was obvious: in the mountains, we are a great duo. So, when we meet for a well-deserved brunch, stars still in our eyes, an idea develops between a croissant and a cappuccino:

C.: «I've always dreamed of going skiing in the Arctic... Descending from the top of frozen peaks to the sea, at sunset.»
P.: «Well, so have I!» 
C.: «We're finishing our Master's projects at the same time... what's stopping us?»

 Pause. Glance. Smile. Third coffee. That was it.

As if on rails

Eight months later, we're on the train, ready for a 4-day journey to the Far North. As the latitudes change, vegetation gives way to snow and ice, and cities to fjords. From our stops in Hamburg, Copenhagen, Nörrkypping and Narvik, we retain the quizzical looks and comments of passers-by, curious to see us carrying all this gear, in April, in the middle of towns with not a trace of mountain in sight.

«Are those skis you have there?» , «But, you have mountains and snow in Switzerland, what are you doing here?».

Arctic version of Vanlife

Arriving in Tromsø, we rent a van. Our motivation is boundless, even if we are a little apprehensive about the local weather and avalanche conditions. And so began 20 days of fantastic adventure. 20 days of powder snow, unreal landscapes, frozen laughter and perfect memories... not only did we live our dream, but the reality surpassed it.

A few essential rules for the Arctic version of vanlife quickly became apparent:

Flip-flops are left in the closet in favor of a down jacket, an essential part of the trip. You also need to eat calories, lots of them, to combat the polar cold. The snack shelf becomes a sacred place. Going to the cafés to taste all the Kanelbøller of the North? A mission.

«Weather cap and sunnies?»

Our motto. If we put on our cap and Glacier sunglasses, it's bound to be «sunny», even when the weather's «bad».

 

In fact, caps and sunglasses are a winning combination in any weather.

Rising late

Accustomed to very early starts in spring in our Alps, we quickly learn that here, there are no set times for race starts. If we set off early, we're immediately categorized as Alpine tourists. So we set our pace to that of the locals, who leave much later, as it's much colder than in Switzerland and the faces don't warm up as quickly. The rule? Follow the sun and adapt your schedule to the exposure of the faces. South or east? An early start. North or West? Early evening departure.

Back to basics: skiing, eating... and washing.

Showers give us a hard time. Supermarket sinks, icy rivers, harbor pipes... we're not short of creativity. The cold stings, of course, but when you're traveling with two people in a van, you'd rather be cold for a few minutes than endure the latent smell of old odlo X ski socks for several hours.

Our daily routine quickly finds its rhythm. The first thing we do when we wake up is turn on the heating. It's not unusual for the van's windows to freeze during the night. While one of us prepares breakfast, the other turns the bed into a dining room. Dozens of minutes later, we finally warm up by starting to walk, skins glued under our skis, caps screwed on our heads and sunglasses on our noses.

Getting up high

The higher we climb, the more the rest of the world fades away. The fjords reveal themselves, nature plays out its splendor, our thoughts calm down and turn to silent wonder, our studies are far behind us, and the present moment becomes our only landmark.

When the wind picks up and the sky becomes overcast, magic gives way to hostility. The cold that pierces us reminds us that we're just two small dots moving in a gigantic, icy environment, thousands of miles from the mountains we know. It reminds us of the power of nature and our powerlessness against it. It's then that we concentrate on each step forward.

Then, when the wind dies down, silence reigns, broken only by the crunch of snow beneath our feet. We're almost always alone in this sumptuous setting, an immaculate white expanse shining with a thousand lights. The imposing frosted peaks tumble down to the icy ocean.

Each day dazzles us a little more than the last. We climb, we marvel, we hug at the summit, then take off the skins, adjust the boots, and plunge into a dream descent. The snow is virgin, fresh and light, the sensations pure and the emotions strong. Sometimes, we end up on the beach, with our skis on and our hearts full of joy. Then we return to our van, and the beer that awaits us there. Here we are, both of us, admiring the magical play of light that makes Arctic skiing so magical. When the sun goes down, the mountains turn gold and the sea silver.

And in the face of this majestic spectacle, the emotions we feel surpass the limits of our vocabulary.

So we keep quiet.

Beyond the skiing, this trip is about friendship, gratitude, happiness and a touch of pride. So it's with boundless gratitude, our hearts overflowing with happiness, our heads full of memories, our throats clenched by emotion and our legs quite tired that, on the train home, we contemplate the road we've travelled, in the certainty that life still holds many beautiful surprises in store, and above all many summits to climb together.

Thank you Lyngen, thank you friendship and above all thank you life!

Clémence and Pascaline